Masterpiece
by Sailor Grape
Summary: HP/DM *slash* Harry has always had a passion for beautiful things, and he shows that passion in his painting. With the help of a certain curious Slytherin, he creates his most spectacular piece ever. **COMPLETE!**
1. It's In the Eyes

Title: Masterpiece  
  
Author: GrapeSmshr  
  
Rated: If there was a rating between PG-13 and R, this fic would be in that category.  
  
Coupling: HP/DM *slash*  
  
Disclaimer: I'm not even gonna bother...  
  
Ok, I originally intended this to be a one-shot, but I decided to break it up into two parts. The sole reason behind that (besides being evil) is that I wanted to see if anyone would actually read it. The other part is all typed up and ready to go, so it'll more than likely be posted up either Sunday or Monday, or earlier if I get enough positive feedback (hint, hint). So, here is part 1. Read on and enjoy!  
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Masterpiece  
Part 1: It's In the Eyes  
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Vibrant violet red trailed its way across stark white, leaving lazy, moist strokes in  
its wake. White gave way to green as the two colors entwined and began to dance  
around each other in painfully slow movements. Not long after, every spot of white had  
been saturated by the two complementary shades.  
  
With one last stroke, tired fingers flexed slowly, curling and uncurling against damp  
palms. Taking one step back, Harry Potter's scrutinizing emerald gaze focused on the  
sight before him.  
  
Large red roses stacked upon each other, the occasional leaf and stem peering out  
from beneath crushed petals. Layer after layer of different shades of the rich hue  
spilled forth in a three-dimensional wonderment that would have made Mother Nature  
weep with jealousy.  
  
Smiling in satisfaction, Harry began to snap the lids back onto his paint jars.   
Grabbing the set of dirty brushes, he made his way into the bathroom. Sure, he could  
have cleaned them using magic, but cleaning them the old-fashioned way had become  
a ritual for him. As he stuck the brushes under the warm stream of water, he watched  
in fascination as the reds and greens swirled together down the drain of the  
luminescent porcelain sink.  
  
For the last week, all Harry had been painting with were reds and greens. It might  
have been due to the upcoming Christmas holiday, which was in three weeks. But  
besides that, the two colors just looked really great together.  
  
Hearing a gasp from outside, Harry quickly shook the dripping water from the  
brushes before going back into the seventh-year boys dorm, where he had been  
painting.  
  
Hermione stood in front of the canvas, unable to tear her eyes away from the  
painting. "Beautiful, absolutely beautiful," she breathed, finally looking at Harry.  
  
Flushing slightly, Harry began to put away his paints and brushes. "It's not much,"  
he mumbled.  
  
"Not much?" Hermione echoed in disbelief. "Judging from that painting alone, I  
never would have guessed that you have only been an artist for three months." She  
sighed, flopping down on Harry's unmade bed. She fingered her Head Girl badge  
absently, almost like she wanted to make sure it was still there. Harry suspected she  
probably slept with it on, too.  
  
Once everything was cleaned and put away, Harry took a seat next to his best  
friend for seven years. Judging from the very rare glimmer of inattention in her eyes, he  
could tell that she had something important on her mind. Often, he marveled at how  
well he could read her, and she him. He supposed it was natural, since they spent  
almost every waking hour together.  
  
"All right, Hermione, out with it," Harry instructed.  
  
With apologetic eyes, Hermione gave him a weak smile. She knew he would be  
able to tell that something was off. He always could. "I just got a letter from my  
parents. Now, I know you, Ron, and I made plans to spend the winter break together,  
but... Harry, my parents asked me to come home." Taking another breath, she rushed  
on. "Since the war ended, they want to celebrate with me since it's safe to go home.   
Ron got a similar letter from his parents."  
  
Harry tried not to flinch at the mention of the war. Five months later, he could still  
see the last stand against Voldemort as if it had just happened yesterday. But, he  
promised himself and his friends that he would try his hardest not to dwell on it. That  
was when he had started to paint, throwing his energy into something that wouldn't  
drive him crazy. "It's fine," he answered, laying a hand on her arm reassuringly. "I'm  
happy you have something to celebrate."  
  
"Oh, Harry!" she threw herself at him, pulling him into a fierce hug. Harry was used  
to these random displays of affection. They started up after they had all almost been  
killed on the battlefield. But Harry wasn't going to complain. He rather liked the comfort.  
  
"I better go. Meeting with Dumbledore." And with a quick kiss, Hermione left.  
  
Shaking his head, Harry gave one last glance to his latest painting before following  
in the direction that Hermione had run off.  
  
It was the middle of the day on a Saturday, and the halls were swimming with  
students from all years and Houses. Harry exchanged greetings and smiles with  
several of them as he made his way out of the castle.  
  
He often spent copious amounts of time at the lake because it was usually  
unoccupied and peaceful. Today was no exception. The high afternoon sun cast out a  
wave of gold glitter along the surface of the calm gray-blue water. The scene really  
made Harry's fingers itch for a paintbrush. He had never painted landscapes, but he  
could very well start with this scene. "Marvelous," he murmured.  
  
"I know I am, but there's no need to fawn over me, really," a voice rang out from his left.  
  
Taking a step toward the large tree at his side, Harry acknowledged the speaker.   
"Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy." Not bothering for an invitation, he plopped down  
gracefully on the dead grass next to the pale teen.  
  
They sat in semi-comfortable silence, neither knowing if they should be exchanging  
insults or pleasantries. It was much easier to opt for silence, anyway.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry studied the form of his longtime rival. Like  
himself, the other boy was decked out in a cloak and scarf to try and ward off the biting  
chill in the air. High, smooth cheekbones were slightly flushed from the wind, and his  
normally perfect hair was disheveled, strands of white-blonde blowing into his slate gray eyes.  
  
It was his eyes that always managed to capture Harry's attention. He had become  
accustomed to seeing a stoic, unreadable expression in their stormy depths. But in  
the past two years, Harry had come to witness many emotions hiding themselves in  
those silvery pools. Every once in a while, when he and Malfoy were verbally sparring,  
the Slytherin would let his guard down and allow something other than anger to smolder  
in his eyes. Those were usually the arguments that Harry lost. He was too entranced  
by the pride, the tiredness, the loneliness, and, every so often, the slightest flicker of  
amusement. The first time Harry had seen those eyes light up with something other  
than discontent, he knew he had been a witness to something special.  
  
Draco could feel Harry's eyes on him. He always could tell when he was being  
watched, especially by the Boy Wonder. It was quite annoying most of the time. But  
now, Draco was curious as to what the other boy was looking for. Without turning his  
head, he drawled, "Why don't you save your eyes some work and just take a picture?"  
  
Harry didn't jump when silver eyes met his emerald orbs. He held the gaze. "No  
camera," he said coolly. His answer seemed to startle the blonde. Harry raised a  
hand to absently brush an unruly strand of hair behind one ear.  
  
Draco's eyes widened. "What did you do?" he asked as he forcefully grabbed  
Harry's raised arm.  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry's startled expression mirrored the other boy's.  
  
"This." He flipped Harry's wrist over to show a streak of dark red running across  
the back of his hand.  
  
Harry made a face. He thought he had washed all of the paint off earlier. He  
glanced up and saw that Draco was staring intently at him with what appeared to be  
anger and... worry? Realization dawned upon him as he chuckled. "It's only paint,  
Malfoy. I just finished a painting."  
  
Draco's face burned with humiliation. He had just made a fool of himself. He hated  
being wrong. Even more than that, he hated showing any kind of emotion, especially to  
Potter. Jumping up, he turned to make his way back to the castle.  
  
A firm hand grasped his wrist. He was pulled back and found himself face to face  
with Harry. Before he could even ask what was going on, Harry's free hand moved to  
the back of Draco's neck and pulled him forward until their lips connected.  
  
Draco gasped, but it was swallowed in Harry's mouth as the Gryffindor gingerly  
swept his lips across the Slytherin's own.  
  
Pulling back just enough to talk, Harry said, "Thanks for caring."  
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"Why don't you save your eyes some trouble and just take a picture?"  
  
Snapping out of his daze, Harry's eyes focused once again to see his rival looking  
at him strangely. Feeling his face start to cover in a furious blush, Harry couldn't get  
his mouth to form any words. He was still reeling from his apparent daydream about  
the boy sitting not two feet to his left. His lips moved to spill forth a witty retort, but he  
just couldn't speak.  
  
Watching the charcoal-haired boy, Draco marveled at just how red one person  
could turn. The dark shade Harry had turned was definitely not normal. It was amusing  
to watch, however. For the briefest of seconds, he considered touching Harry's face to  
see if his hand got scalded, but he pushed this thought quickly to the back of his mind.  
  
Eyes locked, Draco waited expectantly for Harry to say something. When the  
Gryffindor still didn't, he rolled his eyes and stood up, heading back to the castle. He  
knew the other teen was staring after him. Smirking, Draco continued on his leisurely stroll.  
  
As soon as the blonde was out of earshot, Harry cursed loudly. Damn those  
untimely daydreams! He really needed to do something about them. Watching as  
Draco retreated into the school, Harry repeated to himself, "Marvelous," as his mind  
started formulating a plan.  
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I know, there wasn't *too* much action in here... And the tiny part I did throw in turned out to not even be real... But! part 2 will definitely make up for it. Boy, will it make up for it. I can honestly say that I've never written anything quite like it, as far as the romance factor goes. I've written a ton of fics, but I really think this one is in a world all its own. If you want to see what I'm talking about, please review! The more reviews I get, the faster I post. If I get at least 10 reviews by tomorrow night, I'll post the next chapter then (Saturday). Please review! Even if you didn't like it that much, go ahead and tell me. I take constructive criticism well.  
  
And if you are in the mood for more fun H/D slash, read my other fic Insomnia if you haven't already. It's a good read, and it's short and sweet.  
  
Anyway, thanks for reading! 


	2. Canvas

Wow. I am in awe of the feedback so far! You guys are seriously awesome, you really are! As promised, here is the second (and last) part of this fic. You may be a bit surprised where this goes... I know I was when I finished writing it. But it was a lot of fun! Without further ado, please read on and enjoy!  
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Masterpiece  
Part 2: Canvas  
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That evening found Harry in the Gryffindor common room, arguing with his two best  
friends. "Come on, guys," he pleaded once again.  
  
"No. No way. No," Ron Weasley shook his head, waving his arms back and forth  
maniacally.  
  
"Hermione?" Harry turned his attention to her.  
  
"Harry, you know I love you, but I'm siding with Ron on this one." She patted his  
hand in apology.  
  
"Some friends," Harry muttered, running a hand through his tangle of black hair in  
frustration.  
  
"Why don't you go ask Seamus?" Ron suggested.  
  
Snorting, Harry answered, "You really think he could sit still that long?"  
  
Thinking a moment on this, Ron finally answered, "You're right. My mistake."  
  
Piping up with her ever-present wisdom, Hermione commented, "What you need is  
the right subject."  
  
The right subject. Of course. That echoed Harry's thoughts exactly. And he knew  
just who would make the perfect subject. All it would take was a plan on his part,  
which he already had. It seems those daydreams were good for something after all.   
Now it was just a matter of finding that certain someone...  
  
Jumping up from his seat, Harry made a mad dash toward the stairs. "Thanks,  
guys!" he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into his dorm. Throwing open his  
trunk, he rifled through the contents before finding what he was looking for. Stuffing  
these items in the pocket of his robes, he gave a quick glance to the Marauders Map  
before locking his trunk once again.  
  
Racing back down the stairs, Harry barely managed to throw a goodbye to his  
confused friends before climbing out of the portrait hole and hurrying down the hallway.  
  
Having always been a naturally curious person, it was no wonder that Harry had  
knowledge of many secret passages the school housed. In fact, Harry suspected he  
knew about more passages than the Weasley twins did, and what was quite an  
impressive number.  
  
Making a quick right down a deserted hallway, Harry stopped in front of a plain  
painting of the side of a mountain. After making sure no one was watching, he pulled  
the painting away from the wall just enough to slip through, then quietly closed it  
behind him. "Lumos," he muttered, and a bright light radiated from the wand he now  
clutched out in front of him.  
  
The pathway was rather long and boring. Solid gray brick walls, floor, and ceiling  
surrounded him. An occasional drafty breeze wafted though, chilling Harry for the  
briefest of seconds. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he reached a dead end.   
Tapping a brick right in front of him, the wall dematerialized and created an entrance to  
another room.  
  
Stepping through quietly, the wall materialized once again. But Harry was paying  
no attention to the wall, as he was focused intently on the teen sitting on the window  
ledge of the room leading to the astronomy tower, gazing out into the dusky early  
evening sky.  
  
With the stealth and silence of a feline, Harry crossed the room until he was two  
feet from the unsuspecting person.  
  
As a shadow fell over him, the person turned sharply toward his interrupter.   
"Potter, " he acknowledged, no hint of malice in his voice.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry returned, locking eyes with the Slytherin. "Alone, I see."  
  
"Until now," he said pointedly. "So, you can finally talk again?"  
  
"What can I say? It's a miracle," Harry joked, forcing down a blush he felt creeping  
on. Clearing his throat, he continued. "I want to ask you something. A favor, really."  
  
Draco smirked. "And what makes you think I would do you a favor?" But he was  
indeed curious, and he most definitely was interested in what the Gryffindor would ask  
of him. How often did a situation like this appear? Draco could always use it to his  
advantage later.  
  
"I don't. That's why I'm asking." Harry shrugged. "But if you don't want to..."  
  
"I didn't quite say that," Draco answered slowly. Then he paused, his eyes flashing  
with suspicion. "What exactly do you want me to do?"  
  
"Do you paint?" Harry asked nonchalantly, polishing his nails on his robes. When  
he received no answer, he looked back up. "Because I do. And I've been looking for  
someone to paint. The perfect subject."  
  
Growling impatiently, Draco growled, "What does this have to do with... Oh." As  
Harry's words registered in his mind, Draco didn't quite know how to react. He was  
very taken aback at the implications. It was rare indeed to hear a compliment like that,  
especially from Harry Potter to Draco Malfoy. But he still didn't know how to respond,  
so he resorted to familiar territory. "Are you saying that I'm your perfect subject?" he  
drawled, taking a step closer.  
  
Harry looked his straight in the eye. "Yes," he said simply. He was finished  
playing games. Well, after this one, of course. "So, what do you say? Can I paint you?"  
  
When he was asked like that, how could Draco say no? Very easily, actually. He  
was Draco Malfoy, after all. But did he really want to say no?  
  
No.  
  
Glancing around, Draco didn't see a canvas or easel, or even any paint. "Where  
are your paints?"  
  
Harry smiled deviously. "Is that a yes?"  
  
Draco sighed. From that look on Harry's face, he knew that agreeing to such a  
thing might just lead him to trouble. But Draco had never had a problem with trouble  
before. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. "That is a yes."  
  
Taking off his robes, Harry lay it on the back of the couch next to Draco's. Then he  
pulled two little jars of paint out of the pocket of his abandoned robes. He unscrewed  
the lids and set the jars on the mahogany table side by side.  
  
Eyes turning to the curious blonde, Harry walked over and reached for his hand.   
"Over here," he murmured as he pulled Draco to the center of the room, right next to  
the table with the paint jars. "Now, take off your shirt."  
  
Draco eyed Harry warily as the latter boy smiled. Did he just hear what he thought  
he heard? Judging from the mischievous look in Harry's eyes, Draco would have to go  
with yes. Whatever Draco was expecting to be told, that was definitely not it. But still,  
he just couldn't quite make himself refuse.  
  
Slowly reaching down, Draco's hands grabbed at the hem of his tight-fitting black  
shirt and tugged it upwards and over his head. Milky white skin glowed against the  
quickly darkening room, muscles contracting with each deep breath taken.  
  
Harry had only imagined the Slytherin like this, but to see his body in the flesh was  
no comparison by any means. His smile widened at the rosy tint shadowing Draco's  
pale cheeks. Despite his obvious embarrassment, Draco's unwavering gaze stayed  
connected with Harry's.  
  
Grabbing a chair, Harry sat down directly in front of Draco. Holding the jar of red  
paint in one hand, he dipped his index finger into the paint and then ever so slowly  
began working.  
  
Sucking in sharply as the cool paint touched his warm skin, Draco almost jerked  
backward in reflex. The long, gentle strokes that Harry was streaking across his  
stomach were searing his flesh. A moan threatened to escape as Harry's movements  
went north, but Draco squelched it. He briefly wondered if Harry was purposely trying  
to drive him mad. Glancing down, Draco's eyes flitted over Harry's expression. There  
was no mistaking that glazed, wanting look that was no doubt mirrored on his own face.  
  
Trying to keep his hand steady, Harry painted a trail up Draco's chest, running just  
next to a tiny pink nipple. He heard the blonde draw in a sharp breath as his body  
canvas trembled just slightly. Smirking wickedly, Harry's painted finger brushed lazily  
over the same tortured nipple, and this time Draco did let out a low moan. One glance  
at the blonde's expression showed that he either didn't know he was being so vocal, or  
he didn't care. This only made Harry want to tease him more, but he reminded himself  
that there would be plenty of opportunity for that later. For now, he just needed to  
focus on the task at hand.  
  
Finishing up with the red, Harry traded it in for the jar of green paint and set about  
making the finishing touches. A few more strokes, and he would be done. Trailing over  
an already perfect line, Harry's finger strayed just briefly before being removed from  
Draco's body.  
  
At the break in contact, Draco once again gained control over his fuzzy thoughts.   
"Is it done?" he heard himself asking as he turned his eyes downward, then gasped.  
  
Painted on his chest was a brilliant rose, its petals shaped gracefully. A long, dark  
green stem trailed down to his stomach as a single perfect leaf rest on his abdomen.   
Just across his navel was a stack of delicate petals that mingled together.  
  
Harry was quite pleased with his work, considering he didn't use a paintbrush.   
Well, that, and his canvas was positively distracting. Answering Draco's question, he  
mumured, "Not quite yet."  
  
Standing up, Harry reached up to the top button of his sky blue shirt, not caring  
that he left a trail of red and green paint as he continued with his unbuttoning.  
  
Breath catching in his throat, Draco's stormy eyes followed Harry's slow  
movements. He wanted to help the dark-haired boy with those buttons, but Draco  
couldn't quite find himself to move.  
  
Pushing the offending article of clothing off his shoulders and to the floor, Harry  
took Draco's hands in his own, entwining their fingers together. Tugging their hands  
backward, Harry wrapped their arms around his own waist until their chests were  
pressed up against each other.  
  
Sparkling emerald green melded with glittering silver as their faces were only  
millimeters apart. Time seemed to move in slow motion as they moved closer to one  
another.  
  
Unable to wait no longer, Harry dipped his head and closed the gap between their  
waiting lips. Soft, eager kisses fell from parted lips as they joined over and over again,  
each time radiating with more passion than the last.  
  
Finally breaking apart from one another, Harry released Draco's hands as he took a  
step back. Imprinted on his skin was a faint outline of the rose painted on Draco. He  
grinned.  
  
Raising a finely-arched eyebrow in amusement, Draco asked, "Do you always paint  
like this?"  
  
With a slight shake of his head, Harry pulled Draco to him once again. He gently  
covered Draco's lips with his own, savoring the sweet taste that could only be  
described as Draco Malfoy.  
  
Pulling back, Harry leaned away just enough so that their foreheads were still  
touching. "This painting style was reserved just for you," he answered coyly.  
  
Draco couldn't help but chuckle. "And what do you call this work of art?"  
  
Leaning in once more, Harry whispered, "My masterpiece," before the words were  
lost between two pairs of smiling lips.  
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The end! So, what did you think? I don't think I've ever written anything with such a heavy sexual undertone... but I gotta say, it was definitely fun! New experiences, gotta love em. Anyway, I hope you weren't disappointed with how everything happened... I tried to keep it fun and very, very fluffy. Please review! I love reviews. They keep me motivated. Thanks for reading!  
  
I also want to add that this will not be my last HP fic. While I don't have any more started at the moment, I do have at least half a dozen half-formed ideas floating around in my head, so there will be more fun in the future! 


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